Observations in Endurance
by Rat
Summary: Now thoroughly soaked and cold, I reminded myself several times that I was the one who instigated my confinement down here as an alternative to being murdered.


1886

I sit here now, warm and comfortable and well rested. Time feels relative. There are moments that seem to last forever, and others that pass us by in a heart beat. The best of moments seem the shortest we will ever experience.

The worst...

And so I come to my current account of an ordeal endured. I feel the need to remind myself why I am journalling the experience as it is one I would for the most part like to forget. There is nothing narratively interesting or exciting about the events that occurred. Nothing happened that can warrant its addition to my stories published in The Strand.

It is only I who considers the outcome extraordinarily significant and worth future consideration.

Holmes has told me numerous times that I see, but I do not observe. What would surprise him is that I do in fact, observe much more than he realises, though perhaps in different ways than he does.

Holmes has always moved two steps ahead of anyone else, and it is not uncommon for me to fall behind while he runs off to pursue one idea or another. I never hold this against him. For a short sprint I am as able as anyone, it is in distance that I fall short and find my stamina tested.

That was, however, the means by which I fell into trouble in early April regarding the Greenley case. It had been an extremely wet and cold spring, the weather perfectly suited to slow me down. I had followed for a time until I was overcome with a cramp in my thigh from over exertion, and I was forced to stop and rest on an old crate in the alleyway.

Of course by that time I had lost Holmes completely and I knew I would soon be backtracking my steps and pursuing an alternate line of investigation until I heard news of what Holmes had learnt. I took the opportunity to consult my notes, there were several shops along the main road I wanted to visit and determine if the clerks might have seen anything suspicious the day of the theft.

As I stood up, one hand supporting myself against the bricks of the building next to me, one of the side doors opened and out walked the man we'd been hunting.

We were both somewhat shocked but we seemed to recover at roughly the same time, for as I started forwards to rush him he turned and ran the opposite way. It was a fairly quick chase and reminded me of the years I spent playing rugby, indeed those sports skills proved most useful in the tackle I landed. Greenley fell beneath me and I wasted no time subduing him. If only it could have ended there.

Three other men rounded the corner as I secured Greenley's wrists with his own belt. I was suddenly the man under attack. The beating I received in retaliation for my resistance continued until they had me completely overwhelmed.

They flipped me onto my stomach and pulled my hands behind my back, the belt I'd been using to wrap around Greenley's wrists, was then used to secure mine.

"What now?" I asked.

They looked at each other, seemingly surprised by the question.

"He'll identify all us. It'll be our necks if we let him go." The short one reasoned. He noticed my hat laying on the ground and plucked it up to put on his own pudgy bald head.

"How about we bash his head, knock him out?" The man who offered that suggestion was over six feet tall and thick as an ox. I'd be lucky to survive.

"Or you could just leave me here." I suggested.

Again they were surprised. "What?"

There is no pleasure in proving someone wrong to your own detriment, but there it was. Holmes had been far off the mark in his assumptions in this case. I could clearly see the only reason these men had escaped justice so far was not because they were being led by a mastermind criminal who could out think us and the police, but because they were too stupid to follow any kind of reasonable plan. Holmes kept overestimating them and they kept escaping out of pure dumb luck.

"You are thieves, good ones from the trouble we've been having tracking you." I took a deep breath and sighed, hoping they would accept my praise. I couldn't believe I was doing this. "You'll do time if you get caught, but if you kill me you'll hang for sure."

"If they find your body." The big guy added.

I continued quickly. "They will find the body. We are in London, and it is not an easy task to hide anything for long. When they do find me, they will know you did it."

"How about the river?"

"Do you have any idea how many bodies are pulled from the Thames on a regular basis? A body may sink at first, but once it starts to rot, up it comes. Most murderers are caught because they don't realise how difficult it is to keep something like that hidden. There is always evidence. Even if you do manage to find a good enough place to hide the body, my disappearance will be treated as a homicide."

"He's right, we aren't murderers." One of the men spoke up, but he didn't sound very confident about it. I decided my best bet was to help him along.

"No. Trust me, you don't want to kill me. Leave me here and you'll have plenty of time to get away. You could even leave London."

"Leave London to go where?"

"Anywhere you want." I answered. How did these men elude us for so long?

They looked at each other consideringly. "I've got a cousin in Paris." One of them suggested.

If I lived through this I fully intended to rib Holmes about his overestimation of these men for the rest of our lives.

Greenley nudged me in the side with his foot. "What's the best way out of London?"

"You want me to plan your escape for you?" I asked incredulously.

Apparently the sarcasm in my voice was too subtle. Greenley nodded enthusiastically and grabbed my jacket to pull me into a sitting position.

Fine then. Every minute they sat around talking with me out in the open only improved my chances of getting rescued. "Try the docks." I suggested. "Get on one of the steamers."

"How do we know if we're getting on a steamer headed to France?"

"The crew will be speaking french." I answered.

"What if there's no french?"

"Then steal a fishing boat." My best chances were in someone coming by, but the alley was stubbornly empty.

"But we've never been on a boat."

"I have." The big guy offered. "My da was a fisherman."

"Should we take him with us?" One of the others asked.

"No." I interrupted. The last thing I wanted was to be used as a hostage. Second last. The last thing I wanted was to be murdered. Used as a hostage came close second. "Someone might recognise me with you and alert Scotland Yard. Leave me here, I'm already tied up, I'm not going anywhere."

"But now he known our plan." The short one who stole my hat said.

_Only because I made the plans for you!_ I wanted to shout. Wisely I held my tongue.

"We should lock him up so we have enough time to get away."

That sounded reasonable. "How about where you were hiding? You'd have gotten away just fine if I hadn't stopped to rest." And it would be close to where Holmes left me behind and I knew when he started looking for me this was where he would start. I stretched my fingers to pull the two buttons off my coat cuffs and dropped one where I was sitting.

Greenley chewed his lip. "Yeah. Alright."

They hauled me to my feet and marched me back down the alley. Greenley opened the door to the building he'd been in and I dropped the second button as we entered. It was an abandoned bakery. The layers of dust built up on the counters and shelves was impressive. Greenley pushed me further into the store and then pulled up a wooden hatch. They stood me at the edge, and I stared at the ladder descending into the darkness below.

"Will you untie my hands so I can climb down?" I asked.

Greenley laughed. "Step down or I'll push you down."

I took a step and felt a hand grasp the collar of my jacket, I feared they were going to push me afterall, but they saw me safe enough down the ladder to the floor below. My shoes sank into a puddle as deep as my ankles, and the only light came from the hatch above.

The ladder was pulled up and Greenley grinned down at me. "I'll send your partner a telegram letting him know where to find you once we're safely out of London." And with that the hatch closed and I was left in complete darkness.

Unfortunately it wasn't also silence. There were sounds to the left of me, slight scratching.

My feet were already cold and soaked. I stepped carefully outwards until I found a wall, and then followed the confines of my dark prison. Most of the floor was immersed in foul water, the east wall, where I'd heard the scratching coming from had a small area that was dry. It was dry but it wasn't uninhabited. I could feel creatures moving around my foot as I stepped forward.

For the time being at least I decided to stand in the water.

I didn't run into any furniture on my way around, and so I explored the rest of the room in a grid like pattern. The only thing I found was a hole. My foot fell heavily, and without my arms to keep my balance I stumbled awkwardly to one knee. I did manage to push myself back up, and I leaned against the wall until I could regain some strength.

The hole was about three feet across and a foot deep. Possibly the remains of a salvaged furnace.

I worked constantly on my wrists, but the belt was secured tightly and I could not reach to loosen the notch. I did search the wall for possible sharp edges, and found one that might prove useful, but it only managed to cut the skin on my wrists rather than the leather of the belt.

I crossed the room yet again. I stepped on something that moved under my foot, I overbalanced and fell on my side. It took some manoeuvring to right myself, but I was able to get back on my feet again. Now thoroughly soaked and cold, I reminded myself several times that I was the one who instigated my confinement down here as an alternative to being murdered.

Yes, I was still under the impression that being confined in a dark cellar with ankle deep stagnant water and rats was preferable to death.

I was quite proud of myself, actually. Holmes would double back when he realised he'd lost Greenley's trail. The buttons were an obvious clue, were they not? Certainly Holmes would recognise my coat buttons and come to the conclusion that I'd been overpowered and trapped in a cold dark wet cellar. I would be found and we would spend the evening drinking port in our sitting room. Any minute now.

The minutes passed and I remained in the cold dark wet cellar.

I had no way of telling how long it had been. Inevitably, I grew tired. To rest I sat on my heels, neither wanting to sit in water or stand in the dry area with the rats. I was alright until a cramp flared up in my hamstring and I sank to the ground in exhaustion. Sitting in the water wasn't much worse than being soaked and standing out of it, and so there I stayed. It didn't take long for the rats to grow bold and search me out through the water. I felt the sharp sting on my ankle and flinched. I heard splashing from what seemed to be all directions around me and quickly pushed myself back up to my feet.

I was a soldier. I could sleep on my feet if necessary. I was sure I could still do it, bad leg or not. At least I had the wall to lean up against.

Thirst would eventually become an issue. The foul water I was standing in was a cruel joke, even if I were desperate I could not ingest that. I would certainly die a quicker and much more painful and humiliating death than thirst if I did so.

The time dragged in the darkness and the ache in my shoulder from the forced extension of my arm sent pains down my back and arms. I could not break the binding on my wrists. The rats came closer yet, emboldened by my continued presence and it took more and more effort to drive them away.

More time passed.

Doubts assailed me.

How long would it take for Holmes to notice I was missing?

And what had made me think he had any idea whatsoever what my coat buttons looked like? It had seemed like such a brilliant idea in the moment, but I could definitely see the folly of it now. Buttons! I have analysed the shape of his hands, his nose, his posture, clothing and various disguises. I can describe every minute detail of his person and have done so in narrative for literary purposes, but just because I have done it to him does not signify that he has ever done the same to me. It was ludicrous to hope that common coat buttons would remind anyone of John Watson.

That was if anyone noticed my absence at all.

Greenley did promise to send a telegram once they were out of London. Right. I wasn't about to count on that.

And more time passed.

Eventually I sank back down to my knees.

My army days were long past and this only proved it. I could not keep standing.

Exhaustion. I could not stay awake forever. My thoughts were going in circles and becoming more bleak each time around.

I attempted to occupy my mind with recent cases, mentally going over my notes and plotting out how I wanted to transcribe them into story form. As I plotted out the various stories I intended to write, my mind wandered and my head nodded.

I awoke in such a panic that I pitched forward. There was a frenzy of movement around my hips, and I stumbled back to my feet. For lack of anything else to do, I toured the room yet again, searching for anything that could help me escape.

There was nothing.

How much time had passed?

I could feel the stubble on my face. A day?

I focused my mind on anything other than my current predicament and I reminded myself the longer I was down there, the less time I had left to wait.

If Greenley were caught, would he confess? Would he use the knowledge of my location as leverage for a lesser sentence? Would he keep silent out of spite?

I needed to think of other things. I wanted to lose myself in other times. I thought about my long ago first adventures with Holmes back when I was still intimidated by his strange intellect and I hadn't yet seen the humanity within. I had held him in such awe back in those days. When did I first start seeing his other qualities? When did I stop thinking of Holmes as an interesting case study in eccentricity and start thinking of him as a good friend?

It was….

Something crawled over my foot and I jumped and kicked it off. It squealed and splashed. It took several careful deep breaths to regain my equilibrium.

How much time had passed?

Think of Holmes, that was easy enough. How did we become friends, sometimes I still wondered at that. When did I start feeling a friendship with Holmes? It was a gradual thing. Our relationship changed from roommates to colleagues and finally to friends. There were many who didn't understand the special bond I shared with Holmes. Lestrade had even asked me outright why I put up with the apparent lack of regard.

The question confused me, but then I never take Holmes abruptness as an offence. Alright, there are times I do take offence, but I have always been quick to forgive. I only see Holmes as he is, a brilliant man but still a man, coping with life as he knows how. When he is on a case, which is when Lestrade and the others always see him, he is focused and determined, and most notably obsessively intent on his objective. It is a completely different circumstance when we are alone in our sitting room. The Holmes I have come to know is not the cool rationalist others see. Rather, he is witty and interesting. A cold rationalist would not warm a rug by the fire to place on my leg in cold damp weather. He notices when my moods became low and diligently works on bringing me out of them. He is the reason I am still alive after losing my purpose in life after being invalided home.

If he noticed I was missing would he drop the case to come look for me? Would he recognise the buttons if he saw them? I was afraid that I already knew the answer. Holmes cases consumed him completely and left no room for either food or sleep. When he was occupied there was no room in his thoughts for distractions. What chance did I have compared to that?

I stumbled and fell as my bad leg cramped yet again. I drew up my legs up under me and leaned against the wall and prayed, please Holmes, come soon.

A cyclical routine began, in which I would sit and doze, and wake suddenly to the stinging sensation of the boldest of the rats gnawing on my flesh. I would struggle back to my feet and stand with increasing difficulty, chase the vermin away, explore the room once more in the hopes of either finding a way out or to at least free my wrists, and then lose my strength and sit and doze again.

And then came the time I woke and could not stand up. The thirst and exhaustion, the pain in my leg from the old wound and the strain on my shoulders overshadowed all else. Where there was not pain I felt numb.

How long had I been trapped now? I had no idea. Not long enough to grow a beard, thankfully. At least I still retained my sense of humour.

I continued shifting to push the rats away but they were never far.

I was tired and I just wanted to be done with it. At least being murdered would have been quick compared to this.

I did not want to be eaten alive by rats.

There was a sound. The thumping of boots on the floor above. It was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard. I tried to yell but no sound issued from my throat. The hatch above was pulled open and a head appeared over the hole, the first light my eyes had seen since being locked down in the damn hole.

"Watson!"

It was Holmes. I just about sobbed with relief. "Here." I called up in a voice barely over a whisper. He stared for a moment longer and then disappeared, voices were raised above and then the ladder was lowered down and Holmes quickly descended with a lantern in his hand. The light felt like knives in my eyes after being so long in the dark. He jumped down into the water and rushed to my side.

I can't say I remember the next few minutes all that clearly. He undid the belt around my wrists and hauled me to my feet. The pain in my shoulders, now that I was finally able to move them freely was overwhelming and overshadowed all else for some time. I remember feeling hands on my arms and on my wrists.

"Watson?" He said again, it almost sounded like a question, but so much can be conveyed by saying someone's name. It was the way he said it, almost a whisper that communicated to me everything I needed to hear. I was rescued, I was safe. This ordeal was finally over and I would soon be back home. Thank God.

His eyes flicked towards a slight movement across the room. The rats. He stood at my side, keeping an arm around my waist to keep me steady.

"Can you climb?" He asked quietly.

"I will."

If my task was to fly it would have been no less daunting. I could not even bring my arms up in front of me enough to reach the ladder let alone find the strength to grip the rungs and pull myself up. The failure was crushing and I felt the world around me sink away.

And then I felt Holmes arms wrap around my chest, hauling me up, keeping me upright and out of the water.

"We will find another way and get you out." He said. "We can use ropes…."

That was all the prodding I needed. I shrugged him off and moved forward again. I would not stay down there for another second. I would not be pulled out of that cellar at the end of a rope as if I were already a corpse. I would do whatever I needed to do. Biting back the pain, I reminded myself I'd survived much worse in the past, I pushed through the discomfort and climbed with Holmes close behind me.

I made it to the top, hands grasped my arms and pulled me the rest of the way up and onto the floor, and then I collapsed.

There was an argument going on around me when I awoke. Holmes voice was raised in anger, and then suddenly quieted. I felt a hand on my shoulder and when I looked up I saw Holmes and Lestrade, and several other constables that I recognised but could not place a name to.

Holmes knelt by my head and brought a cup of water to my lips. It was all I could do not to grab the cup and gulp it down all at once, but I knew what the consequences for that would be and I forced myself to drink slowly.

"All is well Watson." Holmes said. "I promise I will let you rest soon, but first I am going to help you clean up."

I have to admit I didn't understand his meaning at first, and then the horror of it sank in. I was disgustingly filthy, and I felt overcome with the shame of being seen in such a state by both Holmes and Scotland Yard. I was vaguely aware of a boy, one of the irregulars, standing by the door holding a package, and then the constables and Lestrade exited the room and closed the door behind them, leaving myself and Holmes alone. That left us with the change of clothing and a bucket of water and some rags for washing.

"I can do it." I insisted, though the attempt I made at removing my shirt was beyond pathetic.

Holmes brushed away my hands and ministered to my needs without comment.

I still recall the handling I received while suffering with enteric fever at the military hospital in India with a sense of horror and dread. Administering the daily necessary care to an invalid is an often under-appreciated position given to those who are unqualified and resentful for the indignities pressed upon them. The result is that sanitation is often meted out as punishment and dignity is forsaken all together.

"What was that?" Holmes asked.

I hadn't realised I'd said anything out loud. His ministrations were gentle where I was most sore, and efficient and comforting everywhere else.

"Thank you for being kind." I said.

He paused for a moment and his lips thinned out, then he nodded and continued at his task. "We have had occasion to help eachother out many times, this is no different." He said. "We will go home soon, my friend."

The worst of the filth was cleaned, and I was dressed in fresh clothing. The soiled items were disposed of into in a sack and tossed in the corner.

Holmes allowed Lestrade back in and they talked quietly as I drank more water. I knew they were waiting to ask me questions, but I had one of my own that I wanted to have answered first.

"What day is it?"

They both looked uncomfortable, but it was Holmes who answered. "You were missing for three days. It is the seventh."

I nodded.

"It was Greenleys gang. They locked you down there." Holmes stated.

Again, I nodded. "He was hiding." I cleared my throat and took another drink of water. "When we were chasing him, he ducked in here to hide. I was." I cleared my throat again trying to diminish as much of the raspy quality to my voice as I could. "It was luck that I caught him coming out right close to where I'd stopped. I would have had him, but his friends showed up. That didn't go so well." I laughed deprecatingly. "They really weren't as clever as we'd been thinking they were."

"How do you mean?" Lestrade asked.

I explained the exchange that had happened and how it had been my own suggestion to be locked down in the cellar rather than risking the chance they'd decide to kill me instead. "Not so great a decision in hindsight." I concluded. An uncomfortable silence followed.

Holmes suddenly turned to Lestrade and dismissed him curtly. "That's everything then. I will be taking Dr Watson home and will consult a physician there to tend to his injuries." He helped me up and I was led out into alley. I had thought the light inside the building had been overly bright, the light of midday made me squint so hard I barely had my eyes open. A cab waited at the end of the alley.

I must have fallen asleep as soon as I'd sat down for the next thing I knew we had pulled up outside of Baker street and Holmes was tapping my leg to wake me up.

The stairs leading up to our sitting room was the last hurdle to pass, and that too was accomplished through Holmes help and a great deal of determination. Mrs Hudson greeted us eagerly and promised a plate of food would soon be coming. He seated me on the couch and brought me more water.

"Did you catch Greenley?" I asked.

He seemed startled by the question and hopped up and busied himself across the room, moments later returning with my medical bag.

"No." He stated. "He and his cohorts making a go of it in a fishers boat to escape down river. They got caught up alongside a barge and their boat came apart. Apparently none of them were swimmers."

"Oh."

"Not an unfitting fate." He commented and gently extended my arm and rolled up my sleeve. I made no comment as he set about cleaning the wounds on my hands, and carefully bandaged my wrists where they'd been rubbed raw by the edge of the belt.

"How did you find me?"

He finished with my wrists and sat down by my feet, removing my shoes and rolling up my pant legs to assess the bite marks around my ankles. Gently he dabbed at the wounds with a piece of cotton dipped in alcohol solution.

"My dear Watson, I will forever consider not finding you sooner to be one of the greatest failures of my career, and for that I must beg your forgiveness." He did not look up at my face, but I watched him closely.

"You couldn't have known, Holmes. I know what you are like when you are on a case; I did not expect you to notice I was missing."

Then he did look up, an expression of genuine surprise on his face. "Of course I knew you were missing. I make it a point to always be aware of where I expect you to be." He turned his attention back to my ankles and I winced as yet another wound was dabbed with the alcohol swab. He finished his task and put the supplies back into my bag.

"When Greenley disappeared and I could not find you, I made my way towards the docks thinking his gang might make an attempt to leave London. I hoped you would have the same thought and I'd meet you there. By the time I arrived the boat had already broken apart. Lestrade sent out men to sift through the wreckage. Two bodies were found. Greenley was one of them. It was apparent he'd been in a fight not long before drowning. His upper jaw was discoloured. I knew just from looking at him that it was you he'd fought with. You always twist your wrist slightly downwards when you hit from the left and it leaves a distinctive scratch on the skin from your ring. There was also the fact that he was missing his belt. What would have made him take his belt off? Perhaps using it as we have done in the past as a way of securing a suspect."

Holmes got up a paced the room several times before continuing. "Your hat was among the evidence salvaged. I feared that they'd had you with them in the boat as a hostage. I wasted two days thinking you'd perished in the Thames. Watson, I have based my entire career on my ability to put aside emotion and reason with facts. I failed utterly."

"What made you realise I wasn't in the boat?"

"Again it was your hat. Lestrade felt that I should bring your hat back to Baker Street. I can't say that I understand his sentiment, but I do appreciate what came of it. The first time I examined your hat it was only to identify it as belonging to you. As I examined the hat yet again I noticed that the sweatband and lining had been cut with a knife in an attempt fit a bigger sized head into it. The hat hadn't been on your head when it had been in the boat, hence my initial assumption you'd been in the boat was baseless. As soon as I recognised my mistake I started my investigations anew." He reached into his pocket. In the palm of his hand were two buttons. "Had I not been so blind you would not have suffered so."

I couldn't help the smile from spreading over my face.

He passed them to me and I closed my hand around them, feeling the lingering warmth of his body heat.

"Absolutely extraordinary. How did you know they were mine?"

For once he did not take the opportunity to boast and focused his intense gaze on the fire. "You see, but you do not observe." He said quietly.

"Then I am happy to have been the subject of your observation." I said, and he glanced back at me briefly before looking away again. "Thank you, my friend."

He acknowledged my thanks with a quick nod of the head. Moments later Mrs Hudson entered, her arms laden with a tray of fresh biscuits, cheese, and a selection of cut meat. Whatever more needed to be said could wait for later.

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><p>End<p>

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><p>Thank you for reading. Reviews are appreciated.<p> 


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